


Quarantine

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “You have to stay hydrated.”“I’m an alien, I don’t have to do anything,” Michael snaps.“You’re a sick alien,” Alex corrects.“Tell your dad so he can cut me up then,” Michael shoots back





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: casualcloudlighttrash asked: *offers virtual pie* What about sick Michael with Alex taking care of him? Maybe being at the prison exposed him to alien germs he's actually vulnerable to. Or he barely survives bring Max back. Or he just ends up sick from exhaustion from everything that's gone on and won't admit he needs help until he passes out. Maybe Maria calls Alex because she knows that's who Michael needs even if that's not who he entirely wants at the moment.

Michael blames himself for Max dying.

He left too soon, he was selfish, he was angry and willed this to happen. He immediately takes to guarding Max in the pod himself, ignoring everyone and everything except people bringing him meals. For the first few weeks, the only time any of them see him is bathed in the eerie purple pink glow of the pod. Honestly it makes them all look like they’re on deaths door. He refuses to hear of leaving Max, even when someone else says they will watch him. Alex wants to stay away but Maria says that if she can stomach being around someone who was willing to use her to forget his own pain, then he can damn well do the same. So he joins the food rotation and the basic supplies while Isobel, Liz and Kyle research how they can possibly do this. Even Rosa helps which is mind boggling to say the least. Michael does the theory work from the cave, his back against the pod.

Which is how Alex finds him, tapping his pen against the paper and staring at something before he scribbles something else. Michael gets lost in his work and it’s completely adorable. Even when he looks frustrated. The frustration morphs into something worse and he drops the pen, leaning over himself. In the shadows he looks even worse than he does in the sickly light. It’s cool in the cave but when he leans his head back, Alex can see a shine of sweat on his forehead. Michael blots his forehead with the back of his sleeve and pulls the jacket he’s got on closer. Alex knows Michael has a complicated relationship with being sick. He was never the type of kid who wanted to be sent home or faked sick. Now it’s hard to imagine anyone taking care of him when his first instinct is to push away.

“Hi,” Alex says, “I have food for you.”

“Thanks,” Michael says, setting aside his pen and paper.

Carefully he pushes himself up and takes a second before reaching for the backpack. Alex is ready to save face but Michael’s eyes widen and in a moment, they both realize Michael’s about to go down. Forwards or sideways means the rocks. Backwards risks the pod. Alex knows which way will win. He drops the backpack and barely manages to get his arms around Michael as his legs buckle. It’s so surprising, so wrong, that even Michael looks stunned. When Alex adjusts him, he realizes how heavy Michael is. Taking advantage of his momentarily dazed look, Alex tugs his collar. Michael must be wearing every piece of clothing in an effort to get warm. Alex presses his hand to Michael’s forehead and finds he’s burning up. Even as he burns up though, he shivers. His forehead presses into the back of Alex’s hand like he’s chasing his warmth. Or coolness. Or something. Alex doesn’t know what. He cares only as much as he cares about Michael getting relief.

“Come on,” He says, getting Michael’s arm around his shoulder.

“No,” Michael protests.

“Yes, Michael, you need to trust me,” Alex says. Michael looks at him warily, “five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Please.”

Michael jerks his head and they stumble away from the cave. Alex doesn’t look at him until they are out in the sun, then he carefully gets him to the ground. Michael looks horrible out here. His perpetually sun tan skin is sickly pale except for the red that’s high on his cheeks. Dark circles are under his eyes but patches of dry and irritated skin line his eyelids. Immediately he closes his eyes against the sun like it hurts him. Alex locates the pink hoodie that sends a wave of nostalgia through him somewhere near the outer layers and tugs it up over his head to give him some relief. Michael opens his eyes just enough and Michael can see how miserable and red they are.

“Can you tell me what hurts?”

“E’rything,” Michael says and the lack of denial shows how miserable he truly feels.

“Okay,” Alex says, “I’m gonna call Liz and Kyle.”

Michael winces and curls away from the entrance. Alex frowns and calls them, leaving messages. He doesn’t expect them to answer their phones. Making sure Michael won’t tip over or anything, he ducks back in and grabs the backpack of food. Michael’s notebook is laying there. The page that it’s open to doesn’t have anything about Max though. It’s a careful catalogue of Michael’s own symptoms. He’s dated when they start, how they’re progressing. He’s theorized several things, ranked them and only one is crossed out. Alex looks up at the pod with Max sleeping in it. Or resting, he’s not sure what to call it. If the thing making him sick is some kind of defense the pod has—Alex imagines that’s it. They both know it, both from Michael’s wish for it not to be true and the fact that the universe is absolutely that cruel. He comes back out to see Michael curled in a ball against the side of the cave. Digging in the bag he pulls out a bottle of water and some electrolyte powder. Mixing the two, he rouses Michael.

“Here,” He says, “take a few sips,” Michael stares at him blearily, “come on.”

“You were there when my mom died,” he says.

Alex adds delirium to the symptoms. He lifts the bottle to the bottom of Michael’s lips and coaxes some of the liquid down his throat. Baby sips, it’s just much harder without a straw. Settling the bottle aside, he tries to take the first few layers off Michael, but Michael grips the sides of his coat with a sound that’s too close to a whimper for Alex’s heart. Alex grew up with a monster but he grew up with his basic needs met. Michael claims he’s going to leave this planet but Alex knows he squirrels away everything. Scraps of paper, leftovers, clothes—he knows that pink shirt is from high school. He wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a suit somewhere hidden among the layers. This much heat cannot be good for him though. Alex moves his hands up to Michael’s face. He rubs his cheekbones with his thumbs until Michael’s eyes slit and he looks up at him.

“Alex?” He says, still confused. He blows out a short breath, “what happened?”

“It’s okay,” Alex says, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible, “let’s get some of these layers off,” Michael looks upset, “I’m going to put them right here,” he says.

“M’cold,” Michael says.

“I know,” Alex tells him, “we’re going to warm you up.”

Michael honest to god pouts and something warm bubbles through him. Pouty Michael is among his favorite, mostly because he never gets to see it. Pouty Michael also means that he’s gotten through at least a little delirium, that Michael knows nothing huge is at stake. He doesn’t do his usual fight. He knows it’s not about survival. Alex can’t help brushing the back of Michael’s cheek with his knuckles. It doesn’t have to be survival for him, but Alex can see the sweat starting to bead along his hairline. He eases the first few layers off him, piling them where Michael can see them. Bending down, he takes off Michael’s boots. They aren’t the ones he usually wears and Alex can see the multiple socks and pants he has on. He gets the first few layers of those off as well. Everything Michael wears is soft and worn with age and use. There’s something intrinsically Michael about the various clothes as he folds them into a pile Michael can easily see. He doesn’t like how Michael immediately curls back into himself. Finally Kyle and Liz arrive.

“Hey, Guerin, we’re taking the Cowboy Hobo thing a little far huh?” He says quickly taking his pulse, “how long has he been like this?”

“He’s been getting worse,” Alex says, holding out the notebook.

Kyle glances over it and then holds it out to Liz. While they bend their heads together, Alex focuses on Michael. He’s folded into himself again, cradling his now good hand to his chest. It seems like he’s trying to burrow into himself for warmth. Alex coaxes him into taking a few more sips of the gatorade which Michael does, but doesn’t look pleased about it. The two scientists finally have reached a consensus and Liz bends down, looking at Michael.

“Let’s get him away from the pod.”

“No,” MIchael says blearily, “Max needs me.”

“Max is dead,” Liz says firmly. Everyone stares at how bluntly she says it, “and you won’t be able to help him if you are too.”

“But—“

“I’ll stay,” she says, “the effects seem to be worse on you. I’ll watch him,” she raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, “or do you not trust me with him?”

Michael is feeling just slightly better. Better enough to roll his eyes, though he immediately slams them shut and breathes hard through his nose. Alex has never hated his leg more or lack of than when it’s Kyle who bends down and gets Michael to his feet. But Kyle is aware of the situation or the look must show on Alex’s face because he immediately lifts Michael’s arm. Alex slides under it, pulling Michael’s weight over his shoulder. Michael’s head hangs and he looks like he might be sick. Alex wraps his other arm around him, letting him rest his head on his own shoulder. Kyle grabs their stuff and look at Liz who nods at him and steps into the cave. Alex leads them to his car. Kyle throws their stuff in the backseat and helps him get Michael into the passengers side. He eases it back and Michael twists on his side, making sure his hood is high up. Alex feels a wave of affection towards the other man and closes the door to find Kyle in full doctor mode.

“He needs fluids, maybe a lukewarm bath to take the edge off his temperature. Call me if anything changes,” he says. Alex nods, “you know when babies get their first shots they scream like it’s the worst thing to ever happen to them. That’s because it is,” he says, “has Guerin ever been sick before?”

“Not that I know of,” he says.

“Good luck,” Kyle says, “call me if you need backup.”

“I don’t need backup,” Alex scoffs.

Kyle’s smug look will haunt him.

Michael is a terrible sick person. Alex always thought he was bad with feeling under the weather but Michael puts him and anyone he’s ever met to shame. The second he’s far enough away from the pod, he starts to recover until he hits some kind of wall. Then he gets pissed off. Michael’s life depends on him being able to take care of himself and his sudden inability to is a personal offense. Alex understands but Alex also wants to kill him. Being powerless is something Alex has never done terribly well and any attempt to help has been met with complete rejection if not outright anger. The only good thing about not seeing Michael for so long when he got hurt was that Michael missed the early days of his recovery. When he lashed out at everyone and everything that tried to help him. Alex is ashamed of his behavior back then but he’s got a new appreciation for just how much of a dick he was. He doesn’t compare the loss of a limb to Michael’s first time being sick, suffering is suffering in his opinion. But his patience starts to wear thin as Michael gets more and more frustrated.

“No,” he says, folding his arms.

“What do you mean, no,” Alex repeats, “Kyle said—“

“Kyle said,” Michael imitates in a high voice, “why don’t you go make Kyle drink that stuff,” Alex frowns, “yeah, go take care of him,” MIchael says, seizing the thread, “I’m sure he needs you. I got on fine without you for the past few years. You’re too late for me to need you now.”

The low blow surprises him. He reminds himself that Michael is sick, possibly for the first time in his life. And that Michael pathologically uses sarcasm and anything else he can to shut down conversations he doesn’t want to have. The problem is that defense rarely works on Alex, in no small part because Alex rarely sticks around. He shuts it down on a physical level and from the way that Michael folds his arms and looks at his blanket covered legs, that is what he’s expecting to happen. Alex comes over anyway and sets the glass down. He would hold it out to him but he doesn’t put it past Michael to use his powers. The last thing this already tense situation needs is Michael’s guilt. Once the glass is down, Alex sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Michael. MIchael refuses to meet his eyes and Alex is painfully reminded of the fact that Michael didn’t have anyone to teach him not to be an asshole when he was sick. It’s probably too late to learn that lesson now.

“You have to stay hydrated.”

“I’m an alien, I don’t have to do anything,” Michael snaps.

“You’re a sick alien,” Alex corrects.

“Tell your dad so he can cut me up then,” Michael shoots back, “like he did with my mom.”

He meets Alex’s gaze full of defiance and anger. He’s trying to push him out, Alex has the sense to realize. He’s trying to hurt him before he can get hurt. Alex thinks he probably deserves it, it’s payback for all the times he did nothing wrong and Alex still walked away. But Alex meant what he said, he’s done walking away. He also said he was done not saying what he wanted to, but he puts a pin in that. He’s not going to call a scared, surly Michael the list of names he’s got going on in his head. Instead he picks up the glass and holds it out to him.

“If your mom was here, she’d be on my side,” he says. Michael stares up at him, open mouthed, “and she would tell you to drink because your doctor said to stay hydrated,” he wiggles the glass in front of Michael’s face, “you want a different flavor?”

“Shut up,” Michael says half heartedly, taking the glass and drinking sulkily, “they all taste bad.”

“You could have water if you drank more,” Alex says.

“Drinking hurts,” Michael snaps, “swallowing hurts. And you won’t let me have acetone so no. I don’t want to drink more.”

“Then gatorade it is,” Alex says.

Michael drinks the other part of the glass and sets it down, glaring at Alex the entire time. Alex has had worse from him. Michael holds his gaze for another minute and then drops back onto the pillows, folding his arms over his chest. Alex has the realization that he’s in love with a toddler. A giant, hairy, macho cowboy swaggering toddler who thinks that pouting is going to get him through his first ever sickness. Alex can’t believe how recently he thought Michael’s pout was adorable. He can see Michael struggling to stay awake and waits until his eyes are starting to close to pick up the glass and go to the kitchen to refill it. He adds a few ice cubes and comes back. Michael is snoring and even though Alex is thinking of multiple ways to never have him speak again, even he can admit it’s slightly adorable. Slightly. Alex still thinks he’s a terrible sick person though. In the very back of his head, he also sincerely hopes that maybe Michael won’t snore like that every night.

He leaves soon, feeling better but obviously embarrassed and Alex joins the food rotation and the pod sitting rotation, though babysitting Michael’s massive naked brother in his egg pod is not exactly something he enjoys. Mostly because he spends a lot of the time thinking about if their places had been switched and Michael was the one in there. Michael goes back to avoiding him and sulking and working in the lab. And eventually taking care of the world’s worst patient somehow catches up with him because Alex gets sick. He lets Liz know and she tells him to feel better with a dozen emojis as he hunts down the leftover gatorade. Michael isn’t the only one whose life depends on being able to take care of themselves. He swears he’ll call Kyle later but before later arrives there’s a knock at the door. Alex is not a saint when he’s sick himself, but he’s still smarting from some of the things Michael said so he resolves to at least be civil to Kyle.

“What are you doing here?” He asks as Michael stands there carrying a bag of gatorade and a bag of canned soup.

“Paying you back,” he says, practically bouncing on his feet with either adrenaline or nerves, “can I come in?”

Alex shrugs and nods, stepping aside as Michael goes to the kitchen. He knows his way around. Alex doesn’t think anything of going back to the bedroom and dozing off. The more he sleeps, the faster he can get better. And the faster he doesn’t have to feel like crap. He’s just managed to fall asleep past the tickle in his throat when there’s a poke at his shoulder. Alex takes back all of his reservations. He’s going to kill him. When he doesn’t move, the poke comes again. Finally realizing ignoring him isn’t going to work, Alex opens his eyes to see a putridly bright glass of gatorade in front of him complete with a crazy straw that winds itself in the shape of a ufo. Alex knows that they sell that straw at the museum he worked at as a teenager. He’s sold those straws. He glares up at Michael through the opening in the straw. Michael beams. Alex sincerely wishes he wasn’t quite as in love with him as he is.

“Kyle says to stay hydrated.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Can we get a follow up to (the sick Michael one ending with a sick Alex) please? Can it involve emotional sex because they were both sick and just needed each other and to get it out of their system?

“Why’d you take care of me?”

Alex stops and looks over at Michael. He’s surprised at how small he looks. Being sick has rocked Michael in a way that few things have. Alex doesn’t understand why the universe has it out for him the way it does. In the span of a few weeks, everything Michael thought he knew was taken apart and left in tatters. Alex has been through those times. He’s come out the other end. Alex knows the all deal with trauma differently but he’s seen Michael rocked before. Michael living in Roswell, only speaking to three people and becoming the town troublemaker doesn’t ease Alex’s worries. And through it all, Michael’s support system seems to have been Max and Isobel. Max is gone and Michael cannot even get near him and that also seems to have thrown him for a loop. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Michael that he doesn’t need a reason to take care of him. But something tells him that isn’t going to suffice this time.

“I was worried,” he says.

“But—“ Michael lets out a breath of frustration, “why now?”

Alex isn’t sure he has an answer for that. Maybe distance just makes things easier. He worried about Michael, he can’t say he ever stopped. But worrying about him was easier when he could make up whatever he wanted to about Michael’s life while he did it. Michael went to college. Michael got his life straightened out. Michael was happy without him so why did he have to come back? Now Michael is in front of him on a far more regular basis and all the pretty lies Alex has allowed himself are torn down one by one. He comes over to where Michael is sitting at his table, notebook in front of him and pen in the other hand. He still helps with Max as much as he can. But, again, the proximity that they could have before is gone. Michael can’t be around Max without the same thing happening. Alex has a feeling that will happen soon, but he isn’t looking forward to it.

“I always worry about you,” Alex admits, “I don’t know how to stop. You needed someone to take care of you.”

Michael looks down at his paper. Alex lets him collect his thoughts. Michael isn’t someone who does things lightly. For all that it seems like he flies by the seat of his pants, every move is surprisingly calculated. More calculated than Alex ever thought. It’s actually mind blown when he thinks about how much calculation goes into Michael’s day to day life. His secret, though devastating to him, isn’t going to make him be locked up in a government sanction lab to be dissected. He now knows he has resources, abilities, things he didn’t know before. Michael has less and less of that each day. Alex sits down and waits as Michael looks more and more frustrated. Finally he looks from the paper to him. 

“I needed you a long time ago,” he says.

“I know,” Alex replies, fighting the urge to be frustrated at beating this dead horse.

“Not someone,” Michael emphasizes, “you,” Alex nods, “you know why I didn’t show up?” His mouth goes dry, “because I told myself I was ready not to need you anymore. And that’s when you decided to show up.”

Michael drops his pen and gets to his feet. Sitting still has never exactly been something he excels at. He’s learned, they’ve all had to, but Michael has always been particularly bad at it. Looking at him with new eyes, Alex wonders how much of that is due to his power. The Michael he thought he knew fits like cellophane over the Michael who actually stands before him. He can see though, the two men line up, but there is a distinct cut between them. One he doesn’t always know how to reconcile. He lets Michael stand and pace, torn between sitting down and running until he can’t move. Alex isn’t sure which is going to win out. Michael drags his hand through his curls, his good hand is shoved into his pocket. He does that, Alex has noticed, he hides the hand instinctively. Like he always has done. Every time he takes it out, Alex expects to see the mangled skin that isn’t there anymore.

“You know how many times a day I used to say that I wish you were here?” Michael continues, “or I wish that Alex heard that, Alex would have something to say about that. You’re tied to everything for me. But now you’re here and all I want to do is ask where the hell you were.”

“I know,” Alex says.

“And—“ Michael cuts himself off, “you know?” He repeats back.

“I always think about you,” Alex says, slowly pushing himself up, “that’s why I can’t stay away,” he tells him, “you lashing out because you’re scared and sick doesn’t change that.”

“You sure about that?” Michael challenges, “what if I can’t look at you without feeling so mad I can’t breathe? When does that change?”

“I don’t know,” Alex says honestly.

“But you think it will,” Michael challenges.

“No,” Alex admits, “I don’t,” Michael looks at him warily, “why are you trying to push me away?” Michael looks down, “I’ll tell you it didn’t make my feelings for you go away.”

“Me neither.” Michael says, so quietly Alex almost can’t hear him. He swallows tightly and tells himself that expecting Michael to say anything else on that isn’t fair to either of them. Michael jerks his head up and fixes him with a look again, “being around you hurts, Alex.”

Alex nods.

“Does it hurt less than not being around me?” He asks.

“That’s a shitty way to measure,” Michael says. Alex tries to smile and fails miserably, “no,” he says finally, “I don’t know what to do,” he tells him, frustration creeping back into every word, “I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not either,” Alex points out, “I didn’t act out by sleeping through Roswell,” he adds, trying not to inject any hurt into his voice. But it’s true. His wealth of experience is painfully small.

“Someone else could be easier,” Michael says, “make you happier.”

“Maybe,” Alex says, “but I’d still want you.”

He knows this isn’t completely about him. He’s seen Ann Evans in town, looking for her wayward son. He knows that pain is etched deep into Michael’s soul, no doubt made worse by the loss of the mother who did want him. Michael is very used to being left behind. Alex knows he didn’t help with that. He also knows he needed to go when he did. It’s all very confusing and the only thing he can say with complete certainty is that they love each other. And he knows that makes it easy for them to hurt each other. For two people who have structured their lives around not hurting the ones they care about, it’s a terrifying thought. Michael swallows and looks down again. But neither of them run towards the obvious exits. Maybe worse, neither of them go for the soft spots they both have. Standing there isn’t the usual pain, it’s a bittersweet ache Alex isn’t sure he knows how to handle. But when it comes to Michael, he’s willing to at least try.

“I don’t wanna hurt you more,” Michael says finally.

“I don’t want to hurt you either,” Alex echoes.

“So what do we do?” Michael asks.

“That,” Alex tells him, “try not to hurt each other,” he glances around, “you brought me soup,” he points out, “and you haven’t gone back to the pod,” Michael looks away, “I know you want to do that.”

“I didn’t think you’d take care of me again,” he admits.

  
“Hey,” Alex cuts in, “that’s not true. Guerin. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s not true.”

He can see MIchael struggle against the obvious. Alex tells himself that this doesn’t matter. That Michael not believing him, that this step back, isn’t the be all end all. Michael is not the best verbal communicator. And he has a tendency to hold everything in before he pops like a soda bottle. He’s working on it. What he isn’t expecting is for Michael to duck his head and press his lips against his. Surprise hits Alex, followed by about a dozen other emotions that make him gasp and let Michael deepen the kiss before his mind catches up to him. Michael kisses with passion, like he’s trying to communicate in the only way that makes sense. Alex kisses like he’s trying to mark something. No matter how they kiss, something more profound is always exchanged and it always seems to be in a way that the other cannot understand. Alex pulls back before this goes any further, but his hands grip Michael’s belt loops, grounding him there.

“Wait, you’re dating Maria,” he starts.

“What? No,” Michael shakes his head, “no we realized we had a lot of family shit going on and it wasn’t a good idea,” Alex nods but he can’t quite contain the stab of disappointment, even though it makes him feel like dirt. Right up until Michael cups his cheeks, his thumb brushing his bottom lip, “you’re my family, remember?”

This time Alex kisses him. The consent sets something off on Michael and Alex has to adjust his stance to catch the way he pushes against him. After years of stolen moments in the airstream, the fact that he doesn’t have anything to brace himself against catches him off guard. It’s Michael who has to yank him back, pushing up so the don’t have to break the kiss as he steadies him. He opens his eyes just enough to find the nearest solid object and pulls Michael towards him. The water on the edge of the sink immediately hits the small of his back but Michael is warm at his front. Burning hot, actually, though Alex thankfully knows that’s just how he runs and not that he’s sick. He kisses him harder twice before pulling back. Michael looks dazed and kiss wrecked, his face flushed and his lips parted. He already chases Alex and the pressure of his lips and Alex has to stop him with his fingertips. Michael nips at them and Alex swears he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“We have to go to the bedroom,” he says.

“Huh?” Michael opens his eyes and frustration lights his features before he pushes his forehead against Alex’s, “fuck I miss having the bed right there.”

“Me too,” Alex says, pulling him to the bedroom. It turns out walking with a hard on and a prosthetic is a little more awkward than he anticipated, but thankfully it’s not far to the bedroom. It’s sit on the bed and pull Michael back in between his legs, “come here.”

Michael comes, chasing him down to the bed and covering him with his body. The airstream has a narrow bed that is barley big enough for the both of them except if they lay in a very specific way that Alex is definitely not about to complain about. The bed in the cabin is bigger. It’s easy to turn their positions so Michael is underneath him. Michael pulls back from the kiss, like he’s surprised to remember they’re in a bigger bed. Alex ducks down to press his lips against Michael’s jaw and extended throat. He feels him swallow tightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling up to look at him.

“I don’t know,” Michael admits, “don’t stop.”

Alex crushes their lips together and slips his tongue into Michael’s mouth. Michael presses into the kiss again, trying to push himself up against him. Alex grasps both of Michael’s wrists in his hand and guides them above his head, holding them there. He presses Michael’s hip into the bed with his hand as he settles his knee in between his legs. Michael groans his approval into his mouth, nipping his bottom lip with his teeth. The times when the’ve been able to languidly explore each other have been far and few between. The vast majority of their sexual experience has been passionate but undeniably adrenaline fueled, often with looking over their shoulders. Or filled with things they don’t say. They don’t need to rush, at least this time. Or worry about someone interrupting them. Michael is usually the more vocal one in bed but Michael is a swearing mess by the time they’re naked and against each other. He curses and says Alex’s name in the same wrecked tone of voice that seems to send all the blood rushing to Alex’s groin.

Alex has to get up to get the condoms. When he pulls away Michael full on whines and Alex has to kiss him again before he gets up. Walking naked around his own room is a strange feeling, but nothing compares to looking back and seeing Michael laying there. He’s sprawled out and naked, gasping for air. His hands are still above his head where Alex pushed them before. Alex pulls out the condoms, thanking every god he can remember the name for that he thought to get them. Michael opens his hazel eyes and looks at him as he comes back over. It’s oddly intimate to be able to look at each other. But not intimate enough. Not after the stuff they’ve done. He feels Michael hook a foot behind his leg and drag it down until the sensation vanishes. He tugs the prosthetic forward and Alex crawls back towards him.

“Off or on?”

“Off,” he says.

Michael nods and turns them so he can take off his leg. The sleeve follows. Alex is never sure he’ll get used to missing his leg. Michael’s run his fingers over the scar that seams what remains of it, but it’s the first time he’s brushed the underside of it. Alex shudders at the foreign sensation but doesn’t tell him to stop. It’s another odd realization that being sick is foreign to both of them but they bear the scars of these massive, life altering injuries. He doesn’t think of Michael as any different for the lack of scarring on his hand. Or of anywhere on his body. Michael’s always worn his internal scars more than his external ones. This time when they fuck it’s pleasure and exploration and acceptance rolled into one. Every time they push against each other, Alex tries to memorize the feeling. He tries to learn the exact moment when Michael swears more and then just starts repeating his name as he tightens around him. Hell for the first time he figured out how it is for him to not just focus on getting to the end of it. They fall next to each other on the bed, side by side for a moment until they turn towards each other, like the need for proximity is more important.

“We’re wasting the bed,” Michael mumbles. Alex kisses him lightly.

“I don’t care,” Alex says, “it’ll still be here for next time.”

Michael looks at him, hazel eyes still hazy with pleasure.

“Hey, Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re wasting the shower.”


End file.
